Harry Potter and A Better Place, A Better Time
by La Artista Di Fame
Summary: PostDH It is time for life to go on and to move on from the deaths of that night.  Yet, two fallen warriors are sent back from the brink of after life because of an ancient magic that ties them to the ones that need them most.


**_Chapter 1 revised from post earlier today_**

**Summary:**_ As the wizarding world picks up the pieces of the war, celebrating tyrannical freedom at last, it is time for life to go on and to move on from the deaths of that night. Yet, two fallen warriors are sent back from the brink of after life because of an ancient magic that ties them to the ones that need them most._

**Chapter 1: The Nature of Brothers**

_And when you wake up, _

_Everything is gonna be fine. _

_I guarantee that you'll wake in a better place, _

_In a better time._

_So you're tired of living,_

_You feel like you might give in,_

_Well don't._

_It's not your time._

_(streetlight manifesto)_

A boy stirred from the dark four poster bed. The maroon hangings had not been pulled shut and allowed the thin rays of an afternoon's fading light to dance across his untidy, shoulder length black hair. He was much scrawnier than most boys of seventeen, even more so now after spending so many months in forests with little to eat and even less sleep. His cheekbones pulled at the pale skin covering them and his eyes held the unmistakable shadows of rugged exhaustion. He had grown much over the past year, his once round, boy-like face taking on a strong, squared jaw covered in dark stubble.

Harry Potter buried his face in the pillow beneath him, attempting to will himself back to sleep. It had been a good, deep sleep, the first dreamless sleep he had in years. Hazy images were fighting their way into his mind and he tried to force them away, hoping as fiercely as possible that someone would put out the sun so that he could go back to sleep. Yet, he knew that it wasn't the sun that was keeping him awake, but the faces that he now was unable to keep from flashing through his mind. Red hair gave way to mousy brown, a tiny teenager gave way to a violet haired woman, and finally with a deep pang of loss, the woman gave way to the prematurely lined face of a Marauder.

With a sigh, Harry knew that he would not be able to sink back into the pleasant sleep as he had just left and resolved to get out of bed. With his first movement, he felt the soreness that had overtaken him muscles, making every limb shake and contract painfully with each movement. The killing curse that had hit him hours before mixed with the cruciatus torture to leave his body smarting with pain all over, making the simple act of sitting up and reaching for his glasses a chore.

Pushing on his glasses, he was mildly shocked to see that the dormitory was not empty. The curly hair of Dean Thomas poked out from under the covers of one bed while Seamus Finnegan's body lay sprawled in an odd angle on top of his covers, his street clothes and tennis shoes still on. He was not surprised to see Ron and Neville's beds empty. Neville was probably still glowing in the long awaited praise from his grandmother, something that Harry believed he had truly deserved and needed. And Ron, well, it hurt Harry to even think about the Weasleys, always so full of life, gathered around their fallen member.

As he pushed himself out of bed and crept from the dormitory, careful not to wake his companions, he tried to think of some place to go. The idea of being congratulated and looked at in awe was uninviting, as was the prospect of sitting around with the families of the dead. He hoped that when he reached the common room it might be empty so that he could sit next to the fire in peace but he knew it was no use. Save for the early morning hours, the common room was never empty.

He was correct this time too as he entered, seeing many bodies sitting around the room, many of them were asleep, slouching into couches and arm chairs. Ron sat on a worn loveseat, his arm around a drooping Hermione whose head was buried in his chest. Bill was sitting sideways in an arm chair, his hand barely brushing the silver-blond hair of Fleur who sat on the floor below him, drooping against his legs that hung over the arm of the chair. Charlie sat in the chair next to Bill's, his forehead resting on the shoulder of Ginny, who was curled into her brother's lap as if she were a small child again. Harry moved towards her instinctively, yearning just to hold her hand, but he stopped when he saw how her swollen red eyes and tear streaked cheeks marred her beauty. He couldn't bring himself to pull her from what little peace she had found at this time. Instead, he continued to the portrait hole, motioning a welcome to Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson who sat whispering to each other next to the fire.

Though it was May, the castle still held a draft outside of the common room and Harry wished he had grabbed a sweater before he left the dormitory. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued down the corridor in no true direction. His feet led him aimlessly through the passages and doors that he did not normally enter, hoping to avoid the people that he was sure were still in the castle. The battle had left many of the torches that normally lit the corridor torn down and broken, this mixed with the setting sun to create an eerie darkness in the corridors.

Turning into a corridor that he had never traveled before, Harry stopped short. There were hushed voices coming from a room at the end of the hall. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry stepped slowly towards the voices, trying his best to stop his footsteps from clanging so furiously on the stone as he went. As he neared he saw that a door stood ajar and a silvery glow seemed to be coming from inside. The voices grew recognizable and Harry's heart panged to hear the dreary tone that had over taken George Weasley's voice. He thought he knew who else was in the room, judging by that silvery glow and his mind shot to the time that he himself had asked Nearly Headless Nick about how ghosts came to be.

Deciding that it was not his place to interrupt this and feeling slightly uneasy, he turned to leave but was caught off guard by the familiar voice that entered his ears.

"I know I shouldn't have stayed, but I just wanted to fight, to help," Colin Creevey's tones filled the hall and Harry's heart dropped.

"You should have gone on, Colin, this is no way to spend eternity," the Weasley voice said sadly, and though uncomfortable, Harry was stuck to the spot where he stood, unable to will his feet to move.

"I wanted to go on! I tried to, I really did!" Colin's voice sounded strained and choked, and Harry wondered if ghosts could cry. "I was there, I was ready to go, but then I woke up in the Gryffindor common room, except-," Though Colin broke off, Harry felt that he knew what he was thinking, remembering his unearthly trip to King's Cross only hours before.

"Except it was different," the other voice spoke so quietly that Harry could barely hear him. How was it possible that George knew what the afterlife was like?

_Unless…_ Harry thought but couldn't bring himself to form the words in his mind.

"Yeah!" Colin said excitedly. "All foggy and clean and- and my grandma was there. She died two years ago, but she was there, and she told me that I couldn't go, that I had to stay, I had to stay because... because…," He seemed unable to finish but there was no need to, for the Weasley voice spoke again.

"Because your brother needed you," It was a sad tone, a weary one, a tone that Harry could never imagine one of the twins taking. Something cold dropped into Harry's stomach and he began to feel weak, his every muscle aching angrily

"Yeah," Colin said, his tone matching that of his companion. "Because of Dennis." There was a moment of silence and leaned against the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor.

"What about you?" Colin asked finally, meekly.

"It was Zonko's," The voice said, and a hint of familiar laughter coated the words. "Zonko's Joke Shop. Lupin was there, you know, Professor Lupin." Harry's heart constricted. "He told me I had to be with my brothers." Someone sniffled.

"I'm really sorry Fred," Colin choked out, his voice thick.

"I just wanted it to be over," Fred said sadly.

"I know. Me too," It was odd to hear the tiny Creevey boy comforting somebody three years his senior- someone who had once been the pinnacle of silly confidence.

The two sniffled for a moment as Harry tried to push away the stinging feeling that was coming to his eyes as he listened to the voices of his fallen friends.

"What now?" Colin's voice finally broke the sniffle filled silence between the two.

"I don't know," Fred spoke frankly.

"Fred?" the younger boy asked timidly.

"Hm?"

"Do you- do you remember it?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Colin's voice was filled with disappointment.

"Don't you?"

"No. I mean, I remember running out to the grounds, I remember pulling out my wand, but, I didn't even get to fire a spell. It just all went black and then I woke up," he seemed to struggle with the words as they tumbled from his mouth clumsily. "I wanted to help and I just didn't move fast enough."

"It's better that way," Fred said strongly and for once Harry felt a bit of the old Fred in his words. "There are some things that you shouldn't have to deal with for eternity."

"Fred?" the voice was much more tentative than it had been in the whole conversation, as if he was scared to ask the question he was thinking of.

"Yeah?" Annoyance played in the word's sound.

"Did you- well, did you kill anybody? Any Death Eaters?" Harry strained his ears to hear the answer but the silence was pregnant, almost buzzing with the tension.

"There are some things that you shouldn't have to deal with for eternity," Fred repeated finally.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scene inside the room. Fred would be staring out the window and Colin would be looking ashamed for asking the question. He sat, waiting for more, but the only thing that came was an unexpected feeling of getting dumped into icy water. Shuddering, he ripped his eyes open as the pearly white figure of Fred Weasley stared at him, wide-eyed. He had walked through the wall, not expecting anybody to be sitting against it.

"Bloody hell Harry!" He said in shock, stooping his tall, ghostly frame down to the boy below him.


End file.
